When Summer Bleeds Pt. 1

It was early morning when I got a text from an old high school friend. I hesitated, staring at the screen. Should I open it… or let the past stay buried?

I never thought this day would come. Actually. I prayed it wouldn’t. Years ago, we made a promise: never speak again, and never talk about what happened that summer. The summer that changed everything. The summer I lost it all.

Snapping out of it, I finally opened the message.

Raye Tanner.

She was one of the girls I got close to back then. Someone I thought was a friend. But Raye had a way of pulling people into her world—you didn’t walk away unchanged.

Raye: “Hi Lyric, I hope you’re doing well. Listen, the girls and I are planning to return for Isabelle’s funeral. They weren’t sure if you wanted to come, so I decided to reach out. I know you said never to contact you again, but I felt like you should be included. If you’re up to it, text back. If not… ignore this.”

One part of that message stood out like a scream: Isabelle’s funeral.

Isabelle George. Sweetest soul I ever knew. Kind. Gentle. And part of that summer's friend group.

There was no way I could miss it.

So I texted back, agreeing to return to the place where everything fell apart—

And where the consequences still linger.

As I pass the sign that reads, “Welcome to Bleufaye!” a wave of nostalgia rides the thick summer air. My eyes drift to the tagline just beneath it:

A place where history flows like the bayou, and the heat never fades.

The words settle heavily in my chest. Memories rise fast—too fast. I blink against the sting in my eyes and force myself to focus on the road.

Bleufaye hasn’t changed much, just the faces. Kids still play near the docks. Teenagers still crowd the diner. It’s all the same... just not ours anymore.

I used to adore this town, sundresses, late drives, and summers spent at Bleuveil Estate—the heart of it all.

Snapping back to the present, I pull up to the Georges’ family home.

I step up onto the porch and into the hallway, only to find my past waiting for me.

Raye Tanner.

Selene Marais.

Calista Beauregard.

“I never thought I’d see you again!” Calista says, wrapping me in a hug.

“I never thought I’d see you guys again either,” I lied.

The truth is, I never intended to return. But Isabelle… she mattered. She was like our little sister.

“It’s good to see you, Lyric. I hope New York’s treating you well,” Selene says, gently touching the long necklace hanging almost to her stomach.

My eyes shift to Raye. She hasn’t changed—not one bit. Still beautiful, but in that devilish, dangerous way only she could pull off.

“It’s been a while, Lyric. City life looks good on you,” Raye says, stepping forward to stand beside Selene.

“Thanks, Raye. Looks like you never left this town, huh?”

“Well, this is our home,” she says with a shrug. “I couldn’t leave it even if I wanted to.”

Raye always loved Bleufaye—its scenery, its folklore, its shadows.

And while I still carry mixed feelings about this place… it does still breathe. Still pulsing with memory. Still full of life.

As we sit up in Isabelle's room, a vision flashes before me as I step over the threshold.

Bluefaye, 1997

“I’m so glad summer’s finally here! Now we can spend all our time up at the estate,” Isabelle said, rummaging through her closet like it was a treasure chest.

“You know Raye’s gonna throw her usual summer parties up there. You should come with the girls and me.”

Lyric was still the new girl in Bleufaye. Her family had just moved into town to expand their small private medical practice. In Bleufaye, private care was everything—every secret, every scar stayed behind closed doors.

“You sure Raye’ll be cool with me tagging along?” Lyric asked, still unsure where she fit in this glossy Southern world.

“Yes, Lyric! Of course! We’ll have fun and catch up on all the gossip from before school let out,” Isabelle grinned.

After the move, Lyric had to finish her senior year at Bleufaye High—public school, where the town’s odd blend of charm and secrets lived loud. She almost got into Bleufaye Academy Prep, but her grades took a dip, and public school became part of her story.

“Thanks for inviting me. I don’t really know anyone here,” Lyric said, zipping up the back of Isabelle’s turtleneck.

“You’re welcome, Lyric. Selene and Calista should be here any minute.”

Lyric never really understood why the Isabelle George chose her. The girl came from a powerful political family—her dad was the mayor, her mom a senator. But Isabelle always claimed, “Politics ain’t my cup of sugar.” Her real love? Photography. She carried her Polaroid like it was an extension of her soul.

“By the way, Isabelle,” Lyric said, pausing, “what happened before summer started?”

Isabelle’s smile faltered for just a second.

“Well... that was before you moved here. But let’s just say... the last family of private care doctors didn’t stay in Bleufaye for long.”